My hands tell stories for you to touch:
left and right collaborating, communicating, striving
to create textiles richer than the value that cost measures.
Details – often intricate and delicate – are whispered from my fingers,
imbuing secrets into the seams.
All lined up, side by side,
working together like letters turning into language.
This is why I’m out here –
to offer a gift to those who revel in nuance:
the ones who pass
the same trees everyday,
but still notice each one anew –
I make these things for you.
So wherever you go,
you are home:
embraced by hands that cared
enough to notice:
cover the holes in you,
Cover the whole of you.
when I’m gone,
I wish to leave behind my hands –
always been my smartest part.
As a kid,
I believed every knuckle
was a tiny skull
Protecting a little brain
that controls all of its respective parts.
So I was careful with my hands,
because they had the most brains
of any part of me,
& so logically,
I let them do most of my thinking.
Their diligence quickly surpassed
any possible linguistic eloquence,
& so naturally,
they also do most of my speaking:
stitch song sung
by finger choir:
hands were here:
& now yours:
meeting at these places
our hands have both touched,
transcending time & distance,
reminding us that it’s impossible
to ever be alone.
to be a seam:
two separate entities